


Now My Nervous System Is Blue

by bedbugswrite



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bedbugswrite/pseuds/bedbugswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why was knowing the answer so wrong? </p><p>Or, Farkle is sick of people asking if he's a real boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now My Nervous System Is Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for others to see, any feedback would be appreciated.

Farkle isn't crying.

Farkle won the National Chess Torment (even if he still lost the debate to Smackle), he has a group of friends that would be there in a heartbeat and parents who show emotion loudly or not at all. Farkle is too smart to be doing something as trivial as crying. He is simply hiding away in the janitor's closet, trying to calm down and, _okay maybe sniffling a little._

No Farkle Time.

Mr. Matthews tangents about life lessons usually took up most of their class time and no matter how personal he made it, Farkle liked learning things that weren't always in textbooks, about real problems. Managing to get caught up in the story, with the bad jokes and his girls constantly cutting in, when the bell rang to signal lunch, he realized not once had he spoken up. More importantly, no one noticed, no one cared to ask his opinion, maybe if they didn't ask, they didn't want to know, why should he take up their time?

When his friends beelined to the cafeteria, he hung back, promising to catch up after his Marine Biology meeting, silently hoping they would catch him in the lie. Farkle didn't take Marine Biology. The janitor's closet was nice, roomy and quiet which you could lock from the inside, the perfect place to hide. Not that Farkle was hiding.

He couldn't help but play back to the other day, when his Math teacher, Mrs. Bastet, deliberate choose Max, a boy in the third row who didn't know what chapter of the textbook they were up to, let alone the answer, instead of him with his head waving excitedly in the air. He knew teacher's tried not to play favorites and give everyone a go, Farkle understood. However, as the class ended and students began to file out, Mrs. Bastet shouted above them for Farkle to stay back.

"I understand you did the homework, I don't doubt it." Her smile tight as she shuffled papers.

"Farkle has already started next week's homework!" He beamed, a warm liquid feeling pooling his stomach at the praise.

"However, it's not fair on the other students if I always choose you for the answer. No one likes a know-it-all." The liquid hardening into concrete weighing him down as he pleasantly said thank you and left, his legs turning to jelly, a wobbly mess with a too heavy chest. Not wanting to bring down the mood of his friends, (Maya earned a C in silence without blowing anything up) he put on a brave front and pushed the comment to the back of his mind.

Today he couldn't.

He was hurt and miserable and sick of being unappreciated, pushed to the side at the one place he actually felt like what he said mattered. The robot jokes, started out harmless, had gotten old after a while and instead hurt. Why was knowing the answer so wrong? His dad was all about answers, constantly chasing the unknown and unattainable, one of reasons he 'loved' Mr. Matthews' wife, he thought.

If only he saw Farkle as interesting enough to stay for more then two nights before jetting off again. Instead, knowing the answers his father learnt decades ago seemed to bore him, why relearn things taught by the boy who married the 'love of his life'?

Farkle's head was running at 100/mph with his thoughts, getting sucked into a whirlpool threatening to drag him down when a heavy knock caught his attention. His hopes of janitor Harley giving up and using the cupboard down the hall, grew slim as the tapping became louder.

"Farkle? Buddy, are you in there?"

"Lucas? How did you know I'd be here?" He could hear Lucas sigh through the door and hesitated with his hand hovering over the doorknob. What if he was taking up Lucas' time? What if he was here because he thought he had to.

"You don't do Marine Biology. So, I thought back to Billy and when you hid here. Plus Harley told me he tried getting into the closet, but that it must of been locked from the inside."

"Well I'm fine, you can go back to lunch!"

"You seriously think, I don't know when you're lying?" Farkle could hear the sarcasm in his voice but knew Lucas meant well, he could trust him.

He took a deep breath before turning the knob, the lock clicking open and a slither of light hit his eyes, locking eyes with the other boy, not being able to stop the smile spreading across his face as Lucas' seemed to be contagious.

"Can I?" Lucas gestured to the door and Farkle found himself agreeing without words.

"Are you okay or did you want to eat lunch with the cleaning products?" Lucas joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

"If I'm a robot, it won't matter what surrounds me." His quiet statement wasn't quiet enough as Lucas eye's widened, realising how the seemingly harmless joke effected Farkle. He knew the Matthews meant it in a joking way, Lucas hadn't thought about the way Farkle would over analyse it, getting carried away as he often did.

“I'm _real._ I'm a human. I have feelings and I care what people

say about me. I'm sick of being a super genius, it's exhausting!"

He broke down, anger more so then depressed, his hands curling to form fists as he spat out the words to release the tension that had built up from the past few days. Huffing in and out, he fell into his office chair, an unaffected Lucas patiently waiting for Farkle to calm down.

"You don't always have to be a super genius." Lucas' voice was more gentle, smooth as he moved closer to the emotional boy, reaching out to wipe the tear stains from Farkle's face. Farkle could feel his face heat up at the touch.

"What do you mean? What am I without my smarts?"

"My best friend."

 _Maybe,_ Farkle thought, _he could try just being that for a while._

 


End file.
